If Ever I Should Leave You
by Deirdre1
Summary: In the wake of Tara's death, Willow's cousin arrives in Sunnydale to be with her.


DISCLAIMERS: I don't own Willow, Tara, or any of Joss' characters; he owns 'em, I just take 'em out to play with every now and then. No copyright infringement is intended; this is a work of fiction.  
  
SUMMARY: In the wake of Tara's death, Willow's cousin Dana Rosenberg arrives in Sunnydale with her partner Jen. Mystery ensues upon their arrival, and nothing is quite as it seems.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter One: Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End  
  
My name's Rosenberg. Dana Rosenberg. This is the story of how my lover, the child of a Watcher, and I went to the Hellmouth, enfleshed a ghost, met two vampires, and lived to tell the tale.  
  
**************************************************************************** **********************************************  
  
Raising my head from Willow's shoulder, I caught Jennifer's eye as she gazed wistfully at us. I reached around Willow and gently stroked Jen's hair. She smiled at me before glancing quickly away, as though something had caught her attention. I frowned a little, but dismissed my worries in the next moment.  
  
Willow shifted a bit, and her face was pale and tear-streaked. "Dana?" she whispered. "Right here, honey," I soothed, gently placing my hand on her back. "Dana-I'm scared-" "Of what, Will? What are you scared of?" "The future," she blurted. "How can I -- how will I live without her?" Her voice broke, and Willow began to cry in earnest, the sight breaking my heart. I'd never been able to stand it when my cousin cried. Despite the distance between us over the last several years, Will was still my favorite cousin and always would be.  
  
I'd only met Tara Maclay once, but that one brief meeting, at Aunt Sheila and Uncle Ira's house, had been enough to convince me that she was good for my Little Will. And the looks I'd seen the two of them exchange when they thought no one else was watching - well, they lit up the air between them with the beauty of that love. It was almost painful to witness, but it had been impossible to tear myself away from the effulgence of those two lovely young women.  
  
"Oh, Will-sweetie--you'll make it, Tara would want you to, you know she would," I murmured, rocking her in my arms like the frail child she so resembled at this moment, and hating myself for only being able to offer her the dubious and uncertain comfort of my words. She cried harder, sobs racking her fragile body, till finally they subsided.  
  
I handed her a wad of Kleenex and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, then helped her to stand. "OK, now; Little Will?" "Yeees, Dana?" she said faintly, sniffling. "Honey, I want you to go and wash your face, all right? Then come back to me and Jen, we'll take care of you and see that you sleep."  
  
A smile, nearly imperceptible, curved the corners of Willow's mouth, and a little of the sparkle came back to her green eyes. Faint, to be sure, but it was there. Encouraging.  
  
"You promise you'll be right here?"  
  
The little-girl-lost quality was heavy in her voice, and I couldn't help but respond to it. "You betcha, kid.we'll be right here," I replied, patting the bedspread.  
  
Willow smiled another of those barely-there smiles and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door just "to" behind her. I heard water running, then an exclamation of, "Goddess!"  
  
Jen and I exchanged a quick, worried glance, then as one leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom.  
  
Willow was standing at the sink, water running, with one hand over her mouth, green eyes enormous, and her face white as a sheet, gazing into the mirror like she'd seen a -- ghost?  
  
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I'd caught a glimpse of something. Or some *one*.  
  
I shook myself out of it. "Will? Will, what's wrong?" I gently took hold of her shoulders and turned her around to face me. "D-d-d--" she stuttered. "Dana, I s-s-saw--" Willow was shaking, head to foot like her namesake tree in a gale wind. "Deep breath, Will!" I said sharply, gripping her shoulders more firmly, forcing her to look at me. "What-did-you-see?" Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply. Her eyes fluttered shut, two thin silver tears escaping. "Dana--I saw Tara."  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you mean, you saw Tara? Will, honey, she's.well, she's." I froze. This was Sunnydale, after all; hadn't Buffy come back from the dead? And what had I just seen in that brief flash before my concern for Willow diverted my attention? "D-dead. I know, Dana, but-but she was here! She was standing right behind me, smiling at me, and, and, she was alive, and beautiful-" Willow's voice trailed off, her hands falling helplessly to her sides and her head sagged as though it were suddenly too heavy for her to hold up. Willow dragged her hands through her hair and rubbed her eyes. "Goddess-- what's happening to me, Dana? Am I losing it? Am I losing me?"  
  
Behind us, Jen spoke for the first time. "I have a theory," she said softly.  
  
We spun to look at her, Willow hopefully, me in surprise. "What is your theory, Hon?" I asked.  
  
"I-- I think that Tara might be trapped between dimensions," Jen said quietly.  
  
Stricken, Willow paled even further, if that were possible. She swayed where she stood, and I quickly put my arm around her waist and helped her back into the room that had been hers and Tara's. Jen turned the faucet off, and then quickly followed us.  
  
"What makes you think that Tara's trapped anywhere, though? War-" I broke off, realizing that Willow might not want to hear the name of the man who had killed her Tara, and who she herself had subsequently taken revenge on when the dark magicks took her over in her grief and loss.  
  
"Yeah, I know, that creature has been -- disposed of," Jennifer replied softly. "But what if Tara's still here?" She gestured widely to indicate the house.  
  
Willow and I exchanged a glance, and it was apparent from the expression on her face - a mingling of hope, terror, and anguish - that Jen's theory was one that she had already considered, but didn't dare to believe in. And I knew that the depth of my cousin's grief would not have left her receptive to any psychic energies; quite the opposite, in fact, as though her soul had been wrapped in cotton wool. Numbing.  
  
Willow moaned quietly, plopping down on the bed and wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
"Dana, I know that was Tara that I saw just now! It-it didn't just look like her, it felt like her too, you know? Warm, and sweet, and the way she was looking at me--" More tears slipped out, and Willow dashed them away almost absently, a wistful expression  
  
And then.  
  
She stiffened, her face contorting in a wave of fresh grief and self- recrimination, fists clenching.  
  
"But--what if she knows what I did to him?" she whispered.  
  
She meant the boy, Warren, of course. What she'd done to him--  
  
--was nothing less than what he deserved, my own dark side whispered insidiously to me. Shut it, you, I snarled mentally. Willow's wail jerked me back to awareness of my surroundings.  
  
"Oh, Goddess! She'll hate me!"  
  
Now, that I couldn't believe.  
  
In the possibility of Tara's spirit, essence, whatever-it-was, still being near her beloved Willow? That, I could believe.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter Two: Where There's a Will  
  
Much against my better judgment, I'd given Willow half of a sleeping pill her doctor had prescribed, and now she was dozing fitfully. With a worried frown, I gently pulled the door nearly shut and padded into the hallway, where Jen stood waiting for me near Dawn's bedroom door.  
  
"Hey," I said quietly. "Hey back," she murmured. Moving towards me, she took my hands in hers and drew me in for a hug, leaning her dark head against my red one. She was slightly taller than I, but we'd always been a perfect fit. Still are, I thought contentedly as I snuggled into her embrace, nuzzling my cheek against hers. It always tickled her, and she giggled softly, then sobered.  
  
"Baby, we need to talk to Buffy about this," Jen said softly, pulling back to look me in the eye, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. Her blue- grey eyes were clear, penetrating, and not a little sad.  
  
I sighed.  
  
"Yeah, we should, soon," I agreed. An opening door caught my attention; I raised my head from where I'd once again tucked it (against Jen's ever-so- comfy shoulder) and spotted Dawn, Buffy's little sister, coming out of the room down the hall from where we stood. Eh! Not so little, I thought. She towers over Buffy just like Joyce did.  
  
"Hi Dana," she offered solemnly. "Hey, Jen." Her large blue eyes were slightly bloodshot, and she had a generally crumpled appearance that was out of keeping with the immaculately-turned-out teen I remembered. The attitude of slightly wary exhaustion was about what I expected, though; Tara'd been very much a second mother to Dawn after the girl's own mother had succumbed to a brain aneurysm the year before.  
  
"Dawnie," I began tentatively, "do you need anything?" I winced internally.  
  
Oh, way lame, Rosenberg, way to go, I berated myself. The kid's lost two mothers in less than a year and you ask if she needs anything.  
  
Mentally rolling my eyes at my own daftness, I laid off the subliminal army boot to the backside and listened to what little Dawnie was saying.  
  
"Nothing comes to mind," she mumbled. "Not unless you can make Tara not have-" She came to a halt as she choked up and fresh tears began to well in her eyes.  
  
I laid a gentle hand on Dawn's shoulder as she struggled to gain control of herself.  
  
"Sweetie, nobody expects you to be Supergirl, ya know," I said comfortingly. "Good Lord, cry; cry all you want!"  
  
Woops. iWrong again, Rosenberg. The kid's pissed now! /i crowed the little voice of my conscience.  
  
Dawn's eyes flashed. "No!" she growled. "I'm all done with the tears," she continued, "and now I need to help Buffy with - things." She stalked off, angrily wiping her tears off her cheeks.  
  
"Aw, shit," I muttered, kicking the toe of my Doc Martens at the carpet. "That went well."  
  
Despite the crap timing, Jen smirked.  
  
* * *  
  
After my lame and dismal attempt at "Comfort the Dawnie", I caught up with the aforementioned teen in the Summers kitchen.  
  
"Dawn?"  
  
She whirled from the counter where she and Buffy were cutting up little green and orange somethings and arranging them on platters. A small, very, very, sharp knife was in her hand.  
  
"Morning, Buffy," I greeted the petite blonde Chosen One.  
  
The Slayer gave me a tiny smile and a wave with the hand that wasn't holding a chopping blade. One thing I'd learned about Buffy Summers: when her loved ones were in jeopardy, she never felt quite right without some sort of weapon, even if it was only a decently-sized Henckels.  
  
"Oh! Dana, you scared me," Dawn said apologetically. No sign of her earlier fury was visible, but, having been a teenager myself, I figured it was most likely just shoved aside for the moment, to be taken out and played with later.  
  
"Um.about what I said to you. You know what? I so suck at this whole comfort thing," I moaned, flopping down on one of the barstools at the other side of the breakfast bar.  
  
Buffy muffled a snicker as she turned toward the sink.  
  
"I heard that, Slayer-girl," I grumped.  
  
Dawn grinned. "It's OK, Dana," she said quietly. "I was just being moody."  
  
"You're entitled, Kiddo," I said seriously, propping my chin on a hand and looking intently at her. She was still a little pale, I noticed. She just nodded, ducking her head.  
  
Jennifer padded cat-like into the kitchen at this point, came up behind me and rested her chin on my left shoulder. I leaned into her and kissed her cheek softly.  
  
"Willow's still sleeping," she told the room at large. "Guess she's sensitive to Valium - that was only a half and she's been asleep for nearly two hours," she continued.  
  
Buffy looked sharply up from her task of distributing broccoli florets and carrot sticks among several snack dishes.  
  
"She's still asleep?" she demanded.  
  
"Yep," Jen nodded. "Not sleeping well, though; she's very restless."  
  
That struck me as odd; Valium always knocked my lights out on the rare occasions when my doctor had prescribed it, and I'd always taken the same dose we had given to Willow. Being much of a size with her, I hadn't questioned the dosage; besides, the doctor had recommended no more than a half at a time.  
  
"Maybe it's time for a deeper check on the Will-meister," I suggested, sliding off my stool and ambling toward the kitchen doorway.  
  
I stopped and turned as I reached it. "Do I go alone, or with companions?" I asked, propping a hand on my hip.  
  
Buffy dropped her utensil into the kitchen sink, wiped her hands on her pants, and followed my path to the door.  
  
"Valium, you said?" she asked, addressing me and Jen simultaneously.  
  
We nodded confirmation.  
  
"Okay," she said decisively, "let's see what's the what with the Will."  
  
What a frickin' lovely day this is shaping up to be, was the wry thought as we swept out of the kitchen and up the front stairs to Buffy's room, where Willow still slept.  
  
Chapter Three: It's Not Me  
  
* * *  
  
The Chinese, bless them, have always been inventive with their curses and blessings. One popular saying goes something to the effect of, 'Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.'  
  
How right they were.  
  
We must've resembled something out of a Three Stooges movie as Buffy and I, holding on to the edge of Willow's bedroom door, slowly peered around it. Jen peeked around us and jabbed me in the ribs when I wouldn't move.  
  
I jumped. "Yow!" I exclaimed, fairly loudly. "What was that for?"  
  
Jen gave me a half-smile. "Well, it was either poke you and make you squeal, or poke Buffy and make me in a world-o'-hurt," she uttered calmly. "Few options."  
  
I had to agree. Slayer-strength coupled with worry, exhaustion and grief was a very bad thing to provoke.  
  
We slowly entered the room, trying to be as quiet as possible. From the way Willow was lying in the bed, her red hair tossed around her head and moist with perspiration, legs lifting and falling under the light coverlet, it was glaringly obvious she was not getting the restful sleep that the half-a- Valium was supposed to bring. Little moans and gasps were escaping her lips, but the quality of them didn't sound like a *bad* dream.  
  
The implications of that hit me like a ton of bricks. I swiveled my head around to look at Jen and Buffy, to find that they were both looking at me, then at Willow, eyebrows making new homes in their hairlines. We all laughed uncomfortably.  
  
"Well," began Buffy, "that doesn't sound like it's of the badness, now does it?" She was bright red with embarrassment.  
  
I was sure the same color was adorning my face; it was definitely all over Jen's. "Uh, no, definitely doesn't sound of the bad," I stammered. "Quite the opposite, in fact."  
  
I was torn between being glad that Will was at least dreaming something nice, and worrying about the fact that these sorts of dreams, especially in a powerful witch like Willow, could mean that a - sex demon of some sort had been summoned by her bereaved state. I mentioned this concern to Buffy and Jen, just as a loud, sharp cry escaped Willow's lips and her back arched up off the bed, hands clutching at the flowered sheets.  
  
Squeaking as one, we put our backs to the bed; that arch had shown that Willow had somehow divested herself of every last stitch of pajamas that she'd been wearing when she went to lie down. I wished frantically for a *really* big eraser to get that image permanently gone. . .  
  
Next to me, Buffy was echoing my sentiments. "I so did not need to see that," she exclaimed, hands over her eyes, the visual equivalent of "La la la, I can't hear you, la la la".  
  
Behind us, Willow was panting softly as whatever-it-was completed its business and let her return to consciousness. A rustling of bedcovers and a loud "Eek!" let us know that she'd discovered her unclothed state as well. Louder rustling indicated that she'd dived back into the bed and was frantically rummaging for her lost jammies.  
  
I took half a step forward and my foot caught on what turned out to be the top of Willow's light blue kitty-cat pajamas. Picking it up, I reached back, saying, "Hey, Wills, here's part of 'em." The top was snatched from my hand with a muttered "Thanks, Dana."  
  
"Safe to turn around yet?" came Buffy's voice, slightly muffled by the hands over her face.  
  
Apparently dressed once again in the pale blue flannels, Willow grunted, "Yeah, g'head." She scooted to the edge of the bed, face flaming. "I'll--ah- - be right back," she blurted, jumping up to dash into the bathroom.  
  
The three of us remaining in the bedroom exchanged embarrassed glances.  
  
The bedroom door slowly began to open, and Dawn's head poked in. "What's all the noise about in here? Is Willow OK?" she asked worriedly, frowning.  
  
Buffy spun around and dropped her hands from her face. She went to the door and tried to push Dawn out without looking like she was pushing Dawn out the door, saying, "She's OK, Dawn, just a bad dream, I think."  
  
Dawn raised one eyebrow at her (I wished I could do that!), and said succinctly, "Bull. I *do* know about these things, you know, Buffy."  
  
Buffy looked puzzled; Dawn elaborated, gesturing with her hands. "The whole sex-demon-y possession, all lovely dreams, nothing in reality," she continued, rolling her eyes and looking as smug as only a sixteen-year- old could.  
  
The Slayer got an indescribable look on her face-a combining of shock, big- sister protectiveness and hit-in-the-back-of-the-head-with-a-board-ness.  
  
"H-how..? What? Dawn Marie Summers, have you been in Giles' books again?" she demanded.  
  
Dawn didn't look at her, but she appeared to be trying not to laugh, which was a definitely change from earlier that day. Finally, she cracked, and a giggle escaped her. "You should see your face, Buffy!" she crowed, giggling uncontrollably.  
  
Buffy's eyebrows descended to meet the top of her nose. Uh-oh, Slayer brows, I thought. Dawnie is so in trouble now.  
  
Just as Buffy was about to launch on Dawn, Willow came shuffling out of the bathroom, her face shiny-clean and the hair around it slightly damp. Her eyes were on her shifty feet, and her arms were crossed.  
  
"Um-hi, guys?" she squeaked, looking VERY uncomfortable.  
  
Boy, could we ever empathize with that.  
  
Chapter Four: Gilding the Lily  
  
"Uh-er-hey, Will..." I began hesitantly. Given the fact that she'd just been bouncing about in ecstasy moments before, I thought Willow looked sort of - - well, green around the gills. "Are you OK?"  
  
"Bwah.." she spluttered, on an exhaled almost-snort. "Yes, mostly," she continued. "Do you guys have iany/i idea how embarrassed I am?" concluded Willow softly, fastening her eyes firmly on her feet.  
  
Buffy, Jennifer and I exchanged glances. Oh, iyeah/i, we knew how embarrassed she was, all right.  
  
Dawnie the Ever-tactful, being, um, not at all what that implied, broke our verbal stalemate with her usual disregard for the niceties. Anya, Junior, indeed, I chuckled to myself.  
  
Plopping herself determinedly down on Willow's still rumpled bed, Dawn narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and launched her interrogation. "Willow, what in the frilly heck was happening there, anyway?" she demanded.  
  
Willow turned as red as a whole bushel of freshly cooked beets. "Uh, where?" she asked weakly. She looked nervously around the room, hoping, apparently, to find her answer in the nap of the carpet fibers. Very fidgety, oh yes, iveryi fidgety, indeed.  
  
"W...well...it was..." and here, though I didn't really think it was possible, she managed to turn even redder than before. She was actually sweating with embarrassment.  
  
"Willow." Buffy's voice was an oasis of calm. "We think there was some sort of, uh, demon-y event going on," she continued quietly. "Are we right, or was it something else?" Willow's face began to return to its normal hue, and she heaved a deep sigh. "Buff, it's gonna sound completely crazy-I don't know if I dare to say it," she whispered. "G'wan, kid," I encouraged, "Don't leave it bottled up, spit it out, it doesn't belong to you!" I finished with a grin, using an expression from our childhood 


End file.
